Flint checked over his shoulder, searching for signs of pursuit. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. The dull roar of the occasional car driving along the overpass reverberated above.
The only light came from a flickering billboard's spotlight, advertised to the few people driving the freeway so late. "Jericho, an off-world experience," the massive promotion said in dimly lit, purple lettering.
Flint rarely noticed Jericho boards. They had always been around long before he was born. He seemed to notice them for the first time because of what he was looking for.
The Jericho tours were a big deal a couple of generations ago, but Flint didn't see the appeal of traveling for years to live under a dome on a faraway dead planet.
Flint's grandparents would have considered the possibility of cross-space colonization impossible. To his parents, it became a miraculous reality, and now, no one really cared.
The fact that everyday people inhabited other worlds was now mundane. Still, Jericho tried to lure young hopefuls off Earth with the prospect of new opportunities in interstellar colonies.
Flint pulled his black baseball cap down so it sat on his eyebrows. He wasn't here to contemplate the Jericho expansion that started long before he was born. He was here to find answers and maybe pick something up he could sell in the process.
His breath curled out under the ridge of the cap in the cold. He pulled the scarf around his neck over his nose, obscuring his features. He couldn't risk the video surveillance system identifying his face.
He walked along the base of the freeway until he saw the storage units. An eight-foot wall topped by another six-foot chain link fence surrounded the facility. Flint had come prepared for barbed wire, but it looked like it wouldn't be necessary.
He ran to the border, staying low. Slick mud threatened to trip him. As he approached, he threw himself at the wall, kicking into it to borrow height from his speed. He reached up and snagged a hold of the top of the wall with his nimble fingers.
Flint wasn't very strong, but he was thin and light. He grunted as he pulled himself so he could peek into the yard. The storage garages were dark and quiet. Near the gate, a guard in a black jacket with SECURITY emblazoned in golden letters dozed in a chair.
Security wouldn't take kindly to finding a fifteen-year-old kid sneaking around in the thick of the night. He had been able to talk his way out of being caught in different places in the past, but the bolt cutters, shims, and picks in his backpack painted a damning picture.
Flint grunted as he scaled the chain link fence that topped the wall. It rattled under his weight, but the guard didn't stir.
He set himself down on the other side as silently as he could. He looked at his phone—Unit 32 B.
He pushed on, weaving in and out of blocky garage units, darting from corner to corner.
He glanced around each corner carefully, looking for guards or motion detection spotlights.
He moved, sticking to the shadows with shoes slapping wet asphalt until he made his way to Unit 32 B. Flint sighed in relief as he arrived at the keypad. It didn't take a trained eye to see that his dad had torn out the original padlock clamp and replaced it with a more advanced mechanism.
Flint held his phone next to the keypad, and the display on his screen blinked as metal bolts slid, unlocking the reinforced door. He had to download the key from one of his dad's other computers, but he couldn't risk coming through the front door during the day. They might be watching.
Flint slid in and closed the door behind him. The lights turned on automatically, and he found that the storage garage had been converted to a small base or hideout.
A low cot lay on one wall, facing a punching bag. On the far side of the room was a computer with two monitors next to a long gated locker with dozens of firearms. They ranged from massive scoped rifles to tiny, easily concealed pistols.
Flint's eyes darted around, searching for anything worth taking. Reminding himself why he was there, he focused and went to the computer.
He turned on the computer and pulled up his father's login screen. The second monitor flashed to life, unveiling a six-way split screen that gave Flint a vantage of different sections of the storage yard through the yard's security feed. His father was always a cautious man.
"All right, Dad, where are you?" he muttered.
The password screen denied him access. Flint reached for the keyboard.
‘’
Flint felt a victorious flush of excitement. The words, 'Welcome, Arthur Vance' lit up on the screen.
"First things first," Flint muttered as he navigated the home screen to pull up his dad's wallet. He gasped. It displayed three whole Jericoin and at least fifty Manticoin—pocket change for a dirty PMC like his father but an absolute fortune for Flint.
Flint dug into his pocket for his wallet and fished out his card. It was a universal card that would hold both coins, but only if he knew the correct password.
‘’
To Flint's joy, the Crypto coins vanished from the screen and appeared as digital numbers in his account.
Flint had to pause and momentarily consider the potential repercussions of stealing from Arthur Vance.
If his dad was angry about it, there was no knowing what he might do to Flint, but then again, he might just be impressed. Maybe after seeing Flint's skill, his dad would finally see him and even consider training him.
After weighing each option, he reminded himself that it was hardly a loss for his dad. He would keep it.
Of course, none of that mattered if Flint couldn't find him. Flint pulled up his dad's email and searched the inbox for a relevant name. Janis Vance.
At least two dozen emails addressed to his father from his mother and, not surprisingly, several more from Manticore Inc. popped up.
He smiled as he pulled out his tablet and slid a memory stick out. "Download," he said, voice prompting the stick to copy the folder of emails into its memory. Flint swiftly plugged the stick into his tablet and dumped the files into his cloud storage.
Several plastic tubes wrapped in paper stacked in a plastic tub on the desk caught Flint's eye. Flint smiled as he took a handful of them. These, he could get paid for. He crammed many of them into his backpack. If he had time, he’d pack even more later.
Flint moved to exit the email when he noticed that most of the emails to his father were titled the same thing: The Ash Contract.
Moving to log out, Flint saw a file on his dad's plain default desktop titled Ash.
Flint tried to enter it but was barred by a second password option.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
‘’
Denied. Two more attempts before security lockout.
Flint frowned.
‘3scape?_w1th_d1ff1culty2054buw%@.fel’
Denied. Two more attempts before security lockout.
Flint's frown deepened. What was the Ash Contract?
‘Vancefamily2030*kwl@xaf’
Locked out, see security settings.
"Dad," Flint muttered, "Where are you?"
Flint, barred from the computer, scavenged the pod for anything that looked valuable. He stopped when he found a hard plastic shell case with the name Manticore Inc. stamped into it. Flint moved the container onto the desk and opened it.
Inside, he found a metal device that looked like a spinning top, if the toy were sized for a giant. The sizable metallic funnel shape was made of dozens of rings, each slightly smaller than the last, making a cone with a short shaft sticking out of the base. The whole thing was slightly smaller than a football. Inset metal writing circled each ring in a language Flint didn't recognize.
Flint grinned. He had no idea what it was, but it looked expensive, and was labeled with Manticore Inc. He felt sure Jericho would pay a handsome price for it.
He pulled it from the plastic mold it was seated in. It was heavier than he expected. Then, a flicker of light in the case stole his attention.
A small yellow luminescent crystal emitting a gentle light pulse sat in the case-molded cavity.
Cone forgotten, Flint pulled out the translucent stone and examined it eagerly.
As far as he knew, gems didn't glow, and the fact that this was in one of his dad's pods made his mouth water at the potential value of … whatever it was.
Something moved on the security footage, and Flint turned his attention to the monitor.
Two security guards took a nonchalant stroll through the yard, flashing bright flashlights into dark corners. They didn't seem alert or aware of intruders, so Flint returned to the strange cone and glowing stone.
He crammed them both into his backpack and stood to continue his raid, but he stopped when something else caught his eye on the security feed.
Two men in dark polo shirts, obviously unseen by the guards, dodged behind the security team at a distance, making their way toward Arthur's pod. Were they police? That was unlikely do to their effort to remain unnoticed. Who were they, then? Flint frowned as he made the image with the best camera angle larger, paused the feed, and zoomed into one of their faces.
Flint sprang off the office chair, sending it rolling back across the cement floor. He recognized them. Flint had caught glimpses of these men wherever he drifted. He now knew for sure that these men were following him. Why else would they have trailed him in Phoenix and then followed him here? There was no denying it.
Flint took the plastic shell container and buckled it shut. Then he returned to the general security feed page.
His stomach dropped as the still image jumped, catching up to live footage, and the men suddenly appeared just outside the pod.
Flint stepped away from the door and looked for an escape route. Of course, his father would have one, but it wouldn't be easy to find.
The doorknob rattled, and Flint threw himself to the hinge side of the door. He flicked off the light as he rolled, hugging the container to his chest. He held his breath as the bolt slid, and the door opened next to him.
Powerful flashlight beams clicked to life, flooding the far side of the storage pod with a harsh glow.
"You're sure he was here, bruv?" a man asked in a thick British accent.
"Yeah, you don't think he saw us and led us to the wrong one, do you?"
A light illuminated the caged gun rack.
"No, this is definitely one of Vance's hideouts." The door opened wider, and someone started to walk in. "Which means the kid's still here."
Flint, in his futile hiding place behind the door, slammed the hard plastic case on a hand holding a flashlight with every element of strength or surprise he could muster. A man cried out as the heavy plastic smacked his wrist, causing him to drop his flashlight and fall back from the blow. Flint swung again, pushing the British man into his companion.
"Help!" Flint screamed as he swung the case again, opening a gap for him to dart through. The second man snatched at him and grabbed the case. Flint gave the container a convincing jerk, but the man wrenched it from his hands.
Flint let out a mock cry of despair before turning and bolting away from the storage unit.
He saw the approaching beams of the security guards, roused by his cry. He darted to the side, into the grid of identical storage units, shooting one final glance at his cursing pursuers. The man who had snatched the case swore as he got it open and saw that it was empty. He dropped the shell and drew a pistol from his belt.
Flint ran fast across the storage yard to the far wall, hoping the security and the intruders would clash. The beam from a bright flashlight illuminated him.
"Hey, kid! Stop right there!" a security guard with the uniform windbreaker barked, and Flint turned right. His path should have led him away from the security and the Jericho agents if he had his bearings right.
Flint sometimes wished he was strong or tough, and he was the first to admit that he didn't know the first thing about fighting, but he was fast and could certainly move when motivated.
Flint weaved in and out, dodging and ducking between storage pods. He hid behind a dumpster near the center as one of the guards passed, then slid under a parked truck just as a Jericho agent rounded the corner.
The man muttered a curse as he ran away from an approaching guard.
Flint waited in silence under the truck as the guard gave chase. Though Flint had noticed guns on both parties, no one fired.
Flint looked out from under the truck and saw a pair of feet and ankles trying to sneak toward his concealment.
Realizing he had been found, he scrambled frantically out from the side, shifting his weight from his belly to his palms, rapidly worming himself laterally out from under the truck.
The British Jericho agent abandoned his stealthy approach as he realized Flint had seen him.
As the man approached, Flint started away from the truck, but he forced himself to turn around and face his pursuer.
Flint cried out in panic as he charged the agent. The man hesitated beside the truck, surprised to be rushed by such a small youth.
Flint didn't attack, as his pursuer seemed to expect, but used his momentum to vault into the bed of the massive excavation truck. The Jericho agent made a desperate swipe for Flint's ankles. Flint landed on his feet and charged down the length of the vehicle. He jumped, caught hold of the top of the cab, and pulled himself up as the taller man climbed after him into the bed of the truck.
Flint took a short breath before jumping from the cab to the roof of a garage pod and sprinting away.
"Oh, hell, no!" the British Jericho agent behind him cried as he jumped out of the truck bed, apparently content to continue chasing Flint from the ground.
Flint's feet thundered against folded tin roofing as he noticed more flashlights lining the rows of pods. The reserve security had been called.
Flint sped towards the line of storage units and let his pace falter slightly before he threw himself into the air, arms and legs flailing.
His heart seemed to stop momentarily as he hung suspended in the air, and he realized he might miss the following line of pods.
He kicked forward, his foot found the next row, and he hit the roof, rolling awkwardly. A buzz of static shocked his arm and fingers as his funny-bone rapped the tin roof.
Flint pulled himself up and charged the next one, his breath ragged and rough. He didn't allow himself to hesitate or falter. Flint needed his momentum. He leaped from one row to another, the roof thundering from the impact of each jump.
Ahead, he saw his exit. The cement wall with an elevated chain link fence on top rose ahead. If he had been on the ground, getting to the top of the cement would have been much more challenging, but approaching it from the roofline, he had a chance.
A second set of footsteps pounded against the tin roof behind him. Flint glanced over his left shoulder to find the other Jericho agent on the roof one row over. The man in the dark polo puffed and growled as he tried to keep pace with the wiry youth.
A renewed kick of determination pumped into Flint's run as he leaped to the final row.
Flint ground his teeth together as he realized the distance from the last row of pods to the wall was almost twice the distance of the space between individual pod rows.
He launched himself off the roof, soaring through the air, not daring to lose momentum. Everything, from blood, organs, nerves, and his lunch, seemed to pitch. His gut lurched as he lost velocity and started to free-fall.
He cried out and clawed for the chain link fence. He slammed into it. His hooked fingers snagged into the steel links while his shin collided sharply with the corner of the cement wall.
He almost lost hold and fell back. Only adrenaline kept him hanging on the fence. He groaned as he started up the chain links like a spider, hand over hand, foot over foot. His shin smarted pointedly, but he ignored it.
"Stop right there!" the American Jericho agent barked as he leveled his pistol at Flint.
"Andrew!" the British Jericho agent panted from below as he looked up at his partner on the roof. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "Put that away."
Andrew, obviously the junior of the two, obeyed but continued to glare after Flint.
Flint allowed a sigh of relief as he swung his body over the top of the fence and started to ascend on the outside of the yard.
"Randy, looks like we're going to have company soon," Andrew told his partner as several security guards rushed to them.
The British man nodded, turned away from Flint, put his hands over his head in a gesture of peace, and turned to face the oncoming security.
"Freeze!"
"Get on the ground!" the security guards barked at the two men. None of them seemed to notice Flint as he reached the bottom of the fence and started to slink down to the edge of the wall on the outside of the compound.
"My name is Randy. I'm with Jericho," Randy said in a level voice. “Jericho will pay one Jericoin to whoever brings us that kid and his backpack!"
Flint gasped as a dozen flashlights spun towards him.
Flint dropped from the wall and grunted from the impact as he hit the wet ground.
Security guards on the other side of the wall cried in surprise as they no doubt forgot their current prisoners. A jericoin would be just over half of what one would make in a year. Flint ran like his life depended on it. Because, well, it did. The manhunt had begun.
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